


Painters And Poets

by Jenwryn



Category: Loveless
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-27
Updated: 2008-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soubi takes up Kio's offer to paint him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painters And Poets

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into the world of Loveless. Also, in case you're curious, this tiny thing kind of wrote itself. I was reading Volume 2, right at the start there, where you have that moment with the two lads and... next thing you know, this happened. Oh well. Should you care, the title comes from Horace's [Ars Poetica](http://www.english.emory.edu/DRAMA/ArsPoetica.html), 1.9.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Flecks of paint. Fine dust of pastels twitching just inside the nose. Heavy taste of oils sticking at the base of the throat, and trails of fine watercolours streaked down his apron.

He'd been kneeling at his painting when you'd walked in, apparently oblivious to your arrival, that's what you'd thought. That's what you'd thought, at least, until he'd looked up at you with an unexpected glint in his eyes, as though he'd had a hard day, as though the universe were out to get him, as though you were a pill that could cure him, at least temporarily, as though you were a painkiller, and the floor had fallen out of the bottom of your stomach at the rush of it all. It's not aggression, that glint, it's... calm, calm hunger. You wonder, momentarily, angrily, if this is some kind of reaction on his behalf against the fact that he's so clearly a pervert, and so clearly itching for that soft-eared child but, on the other hand, you really don't care because it's you he's looking at like that, and it doesn't actually matter if it's really you he's seeing, or Aoyagi Seimei, or the Aoyagi whelp, because you're the only one in the room.

After that it's all warm air on bare skin, and your hip-bone hard against the floorboards, Soubi's eyes so intent, and a smear of vine charcoal on his cheek as he pauses, and glances, and then inclines his head back over the board balanced lightly upon his knees even as his hand, lithe-fingered, smudges and skims, tracing and shading the lines of your bare form, your flesh and your bones and your wisps of pale hair, out across the slope of paper. Creator, he's creator; poet and painter, and painter and poet, drawing you out into another realm—

—and breaking your heart into a thousand painted shards when you close your eyes to smile, only to hear him whisper the breath of another name; _Ritsuka._


End file.
